Ave Maria
by Roguetypewriter
Summary: "Haven't you figured it out yet?" Zachariah smirked. I wracked my brain trying to understand what he could possibly mean-coming up with nothing. "Just tell me you pompous air-bag," I hissed. He stepped closer and softly ran his knuckles down my face. "You are going to win us the war." - A Castiel/OC fic starting just after Episode 6 Season 3. Language/Gore/Nudity warning!
1. Chapter 1

The walk into the office was strikingly cold. I pulled my cardigan tighter around me and thought lovingly of my thermos that was safely tucked away in my bookbag. In a way, the cold was welcome. It was as cold as it was going to get outside in Phoenix and despite the mild temperatures my nose still had sunburn.

"There's my little red-headed truffle," whispered Hank, hulking over the cubicle separator like a naughty schoolboy. I rubbed my arms trying to get some warmth back into them. "Will you be needing my coat again, Sarah?"

"Oh no thank you Hank," I answered softly, sitting down and revealing my secret, tea-filled thermos. He cracked a conspiratorial grin, and I had the sudden image of a mischievous leprechaun.

The day went by slowly. Besides the odd flickering of the lights which had been a problem for several weeks, it was dreadfully boring. I bit my lip in anticipation. The clock was creeping and I couldn't wait to get home where my floors were splattered with color and the air was sharp with the smell of acrylic paint. I thought about the project I had started just the night before. _The base coat should be dry maybe tonight I'll start on the flowerbeds. Or maybe the stars._

"See you tomorrow my sweet," said Hank, knocking me out of my daydream. He and everyone else were herding themselves towards the door and I quickly followed- eager to get back to my painting. I had just made it to my car in the parking garage when I realized I'd left my thermos. _Well shit_.

With a growl I stamped back into the building, cursing my own stupidity for only buying the one canister. I jogged up the stairwell, my heavy breathing a reminder of how horribly out of shape I was. The elevator was an option but with the lights still sputtering I didn't trust it. _I work on the sixth floor. Should've just taken the damn elevator_.

I heard echoes of footsteps a couple floors below me and felt some trepidation. My heart was already pounding from the physical exertion of racing up the stairs but this stepped it up a notch. I swallowed down my paranoia and pushed the door. _It's nothing_. _Stop being such a scaredy cat._ But my thermos still slipped through my sweaty palms when I found it in my cubicle. It had been a few weeks since I had felt so panicky. When my neighbor across the hall briefly said hello and his face moved strangely. Almost like there was a face under a face. It lasted a nanosecond, but that moment caused a week's worth of nightmares.

I could have brushed it off, but he wasn't the first. Before him there was Jan the hostess at the café across from my apartment. And before that was Nathan, the seven year old kid who liked to practice skateboarding on the sidewalk. There were so many sleepless nights where I would stare at the bedroom door, just waiting for someone to barge in. Then, finally, it stopped. I had gone a whole month without seeing anything out of the ordinary. I deleted the number of the shrink I started seeing and cropped it up to having an overactive imagination. Something my mother had accused me of having countless times.

But now, that fear was back. It was almost like I could _sense_ something was wrong. My throat closed shut and my eyes frantically scanned the room for danger. Nobody followed me in but I _just knew_ I wasn't alone. Feeling sick to my stomach and a little stupid I decided to just make a run for the elevator and hope for the best. Like a child who was scared of the dark running to climb back into the safety of her bed. _Why did I delete the shrinks' number? I have clearly lost my mind._

Despite realizing I looked delirious I still made a run for the door. A hand gripped my upper arm and abruptly stopped me. I felt a scream rise in my throat and turned to do the heel-to nose technique I vaguely remembered from Ms. Congeniality and stopped short when I saw it was Hank.

"Jesus Christ Hank," I blurted out. A wave of relief washed over me even as I scolded, "Don't do that! You scared the hell out of me!"

"Did I?" he replied, still gripping my bicep tightly. He was deceptively strong for a sixty year-old man. He smiled widely and stared down at me, inching closer. My stomach clenched. This wasn't right. I'd known Hank for two years and while we were friendly we'd never been especially close. Besides his paternal sort of demeanor towards we never really got past the niceties. My arm was really starting to hurt.

"Let go of me Hank," I said, my voice wavering. He chuckled darkly. Then I saw another face beneath Hank's homely one. A disgusting, rotting face, and I trembled.

"Sorry princess," he said as his eyes went black. "We've lost you once already, and the boss wasn't too happy with us. This time you're going somewhere where you can't weasel out".

I stopped breathing. This wasn't Hank. Hank had four grown children and was on the verge of retirement. He spent two hours last week sending me emails filled with pictures of his first granddaughter. The most interesting thing he did was add ketchup and cumin to his macaroni. _This is a monster_.

Feeling dizzy and terrified I started scratching at not-Hank's hand trying to get him to release his hold. Even when my nails began drawing blood he still didn't let go. My vision was blurring. I couldn't help the tears from forming. I pulled my free hand back, formed a fist, and closed my eyes. I didn't want to watch myself punch Hank full on the nose. "Best you stop fighting you little chit," said the dark-eyed imposter. "Maybe save your energy for the big man downstairs. I'll bet he has a lot of _fun_ things planned for you-" he stopped abruptly when my fist connected with his face and a sharp pain raced from my knuckles to my shoulder.

 _Ouch_. I shook my hand out. I'd never punched anyone before; it hurt a lot more than I thought it would. Hank had let go of me, clutching his bleeding nose. "YOU BITCH," he cursed at me, putting his hand out towards me and _flinging_ me across the office into the wall of a cubicle. My head hit first and I felt it crack. The pain in my hand was forgotten in response to the agony that ripped through my skull. My vision was going dark and I couldn't pick myself off the floor. I couldn't move at all.

I tasted blood. I heard Hank's voice laughing evilly when I heard the door open suddenly. Before I passed out I heard a rushed voice say, "Excorzamus te, omnis immundis-!"

Then darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

"… _the line separating good angels from bad angels is not always clear. An angel may act benevolently in one situation but with evil intent in another."_

 _Holy hell_. My head felt like someone had taken Thor's hammer to it. I scrunched my eyes closed even further when I realized that my intense headache was made worse by a constant beeping next to my right ear. I tried to lick my lips but my mouth was too dry. _What the hell happened to me?_

Then I remembered and I shot straight up-eyes wide. Nausea rose up and clogged my throat. I gagged a little bit and twisted around trying to figure out where I was. Machines were everywhere and the smell of sanitizer was prominent. I was in a hospital. My hand automatically reached around to touch the spot where my head had split open like an egg. Gauze and a shot of pain confirmed that what happened was real. _Oh my god_. The heart monitor sped up as I remembered Hank. How he gripped my arm so tightly that I could feel the bruise there without looking at it. How he flung me across the room _with his mind_. And his eyes. His _black_ eyes.

The heart monitor went haywire, and a nurse rushed into the room looking concerned. "Calm down honey, you're in the hospital!" she said pushing on me lightly to get me to lie back down. But I resisted. I needed to run. Run somewhere far away and hide. A cave in Tibet maybe. "Please sugar, you've gotten yourself a serious concussion. Even if you manage to stand up straight you won't get too far," her southern accent was soothing and her gentle rubbing motion on my arms helped too. I eventually did lie back down. But I was far from calm. My eyes paced back and forth all over the room.

She smiled at me. "That's a good job dear, now I know you've just woken up but the cops are here to talk to ya," she said softly. "They say it's urgent, are you up to it?" she asked, checking to make sure I hadn't messed up my I.V. I swallowed. What could I possibly tell the police? That Hank must've taken a super-charged steroid that made him Hulk up? That turned his eyes blacker than tar? They'd commit me before the nurse could finish checking my vitals.

I noticed my glasses on the nightstand next to me and slipped them on. _Miracle they didn't break when_ -I stopped that train of thought in its tracks. I didn't want to think of the sickening crack I heard when my head collided with the wall. With my eyesight restored I saw that the nurse's name was Belinda and she had brilliant blue eyes. She patted my leg through the covers and said, "Well honey?"

Oh yeah. The cops. _Just wing it. They've probably already discovered that I've been seeing a shrink for the last month_. "Uh sure Belinda," I answered with a gravelly voice, nervously gripping the blanket. "But could I have some water first?"

She stood up quickly and I had a chance to sit up again, slowly this time. She gave me the cup and I drank greedily and felt slightly better. Wordlessly Belinda handed me a couple of pills. I recognized them as aspirin and popped them back quickly. The headache was still murder- why didn't they give me some real painkillers? Belinda patted me again and said that she'd be back shortly. With the police. That I was probably about to bald-face lie to. _When did my life get so screwed up?_

As I waited my stomach began to roll again. Memories of Hank, the good Hank, warring with the freak of nature that tossed me around like a rag doll. My chest constricted and contracted painfully. My eyes filled with tears that I didn't let fall. No way was I going to talk to the police looking unhinged. Even if that was the way I felt.

Just then Belinda poked her head in, followed by two attractive men dressed in crappy suits. One was _really_ tall. "Nice to see you awake," said the shorter one. He had nice green eyes. "We were worried you would never wake up," he chuckled. I must have made a face because the taller guy dug his elbow into him. The shorter one immediately mumbled an apology and motioned for Belinda to leave. He then pulled out a badge and said, "I'm Agent Mulligan and this is Agent Joiner and we're going to ask a couple of questions ok?" I nodded my head slowly, a little confused. I thought I was talking to the police, not the F.B.I.

Agent Joiner, the tall one, picked up my empty cup and gently asked," Would you like some more water before we begin?" I nodded again, not meeting his eyes. _Can I go to jail for lying to a fed?_

I twisted my blanket again, bunching it over and over in my hands. Only when the cup of water was thrust in front of my face did I look up again. I thanked him and drank the water slowly, so that I could put off talking to them for as long as possible. Agent Mulligan let out a breath he was holding and pulled up a chair.

"Ok Ms. Lowe, or Sarah if you don't mind," he started. "Why don't you tell us what happened,". He stared at me sort of intensely. Like he was trying to read my mind. It was extremely uncomfortable. Not just because he was an agent but because he was _really_ cute. Being a freckly red-head with constant sunburn and huge glasses was not necessarily a guy magnet and I had never been on the receiving end of a look like that.

I coughed a little and began," Well I'd left my thermos-"and told him the barest bones of what happened. Kept it simple. I went back for my thermos and Hank was there and attacked me for no reason. There. No mind powers and no black eyes. I bit my lip after I was finished and looked away from them. But a sideways glance told me that they weren't buying it. Then Agent Joiner, who had been standing behind Agent Mulligan crossed over and sat at the end of the bed.

"Look, Sarah, we need to know _everything_ that happened. Even if it doesn't make sense to you," he gave me a soulful glance. "Please,"

I closed my eyes tightly and put my head in my hands, so close to going into full on crazy sobs. "It's not possible. I'm sure you know I've been seeing a therapist, I've lost my mind and that's it!" My voice was warbling and that aspirin hadn't kicked in yet. Agent Joiner continued to give me that look and I broke down just enough to blurt out, "He _threw_ me across the room!" I resisted the urge to touch the back of my head. "Without _touching me_!"

As soon as I said it the feds looked at each other sharply and leaned in closer. Agent Mulligan looked towards the door to make sure no one was about to barge in and very softly asked, "He had black eyes too right?"

Finally the tears leaked over and I smiled. Probably looking like a maniac. "Yes!" waving my hands around animatedly. Then a thought occurred to me. "You guys aren't screwing with me right? I'm not insane ok!" I said with conviction- shaking my finger in their faces.

Agent Joiner shook his head and said, "No! No we believe you. Promise," he gave a small smile. "This isn't our first, uh, case like this,". The way he said case, like he had made up the word, made me frown. But my shoulders relaxed. I hadn't noticed they were so tense. _They believe me._

"So what does that mean? What happened to Hank?" I fired off. Without letting them reply I continued," Hank is a good man! He has four kids and plays poker with his fishing pals every Sunday". Why I was defending the man who had nearly killed me I don't know, but after all the times Hank had lent me his coat when I was freezing in the office I couldn't just let these guys think he was all bad.

Agent Mulligan pursed his lips together and grudgingly explained that it was a demon. A demon had possessed my elderly work friend and used his hell powers to throw me around like a football. My mouth dropped open slightly. _Were these guys serious?_

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," I grounded through clenched teeth. "For one, demons aren't real and two," my voice dropped lower," even if they were real, why the _fuck_ would one take the time to _posses_ Hank and then try to kill me?"

Agent Mulligan seemed to think my question was slightly amusing because he smiled when he said, "Well we were hoping you could tell us,"

"What?" I asked more confused than ever.

Joiner hopped in, saying that demon signs had been cropping up around Phoenix for a couple months now and that their activity had been centered around me. The flickering lights were a sign I had seen almost daily but I hadn't noticed the other things they'd mentioned. Like sulfur and the increase in crime. By the time he'd finished explaining all of the demon activity I no longer doubted that they really believed that demons existed. And damned if I wasn't starting to believe them too. I mean, how else could Hank do what he did yesterday?

"And their faces?" I asked without really thinking about it. "I've noticed some, uh, creepy face shit happening," I added on thinking they would say that it was normal. But the way that Agent Mulligan's eyes bulged out I guessed that it wasn't. Agent Joiner looked freaked too.

"Come again," he asked, giving me a sideways 'you kidding me?' look.

 _Geez_. _So even after learning all of that demon crap I'm still crazy. That's great_. I wondered if I shouldn't elaborate but then I thought that if anyone could explain what was happening to me it was these guys. "About two months ago I started seeing people's faces mess up. I would be looking at their face, and it would look like another face was under it. A freaky, crumbling face like a horrible macabre Halloween mask," I explained in a rush. Judging by the way the brothers exchanged a glance that was as far from normal as it got.

Agent Mulligan gave me a hard look. "We have a lot more bases to cover then sister. Cuz you just got a hell of a lot more interesting," I gulped. He pulled his chair even closer, the scratch of the legs against the floor making me wince. "We'll start with a softball. Have you been to a crossroads recently?" he asked with a note of anger. I noticed his hands were tightly clenched.

"What the hell is a crossroads," I managed to squeak out. He did that 'stare into your soul' thing again and I guess he believed me because he nodded and kept going. Funnily enough that wasn't the strangest question. After that he asked if there was a house fire when I was six months old. _Wha_ -? Have I ever ran into a yellow-eyed demon. _No why-_. Could I move things with my mind, could I read other people's minds, could I make people do things just by pure suggestion? _No, No what kind of questions-_.

"Dean," said Agent Joiner, interrupting the interrogation. "I don't think she knows anything, and I don't think she's like me. Let's give her a rest. We can come back tomorrow," he suggested, looking at me sympathetically. My head was spinning with all of those questions and my headache was spreading from the back of my head to the base of my neck and I wanted nothing more than to scream out my fear, pain, and frustration. I guess Agent Mulligan, or Dean, as his partner called him noticed that I was hurting and backed off.

"One moment," he said before pulling his partner to the side. I looked down at my hands and saw they were shaking again. The knuckles on my right hand were yellow with the first sign of bruising. _Demons?_ _What do they want with me?_ Because if these guys were sure of one thing it was that these black-eyed freaks were laser-focused on me. _Well pretty obvious by the way he catapulted me that that thing wanted me dead_.

Out of the blue I wondered if anyone called my mother to tell her what happened. It was strange to imagine her visiting me but I was pretty sure she was still my emergency contact, even if we hadn't spoken in years. My eyes blurred. I didn't normally cry at the thought of our dismal relationship but I just wanted _someone_ who would care that I ended up in the hospital. Loneliness is a real bitch. The tears fell over and I quickly brushed them away, not wanting to look even more pathetic in front on the feds. _Or are they even for real? I didn't think the federal government would have a supernatural division_.

As soon as I had that thought the Agents walked back over to me sort of reluctantly. Agent Joiner sat on the edge of the bed again, "Sarah," he paused for a second," We think it might be best if you came with us,"

"What? No!" I answered immediately.

Agent Mulligan sighed loud enough to get my attention. "Look you can stay, but fair warning; we only sent one demon back to hell last night. And there is at least five more floating around trying to get their hands on you. So if you have any sense at all you'll come with us. We can't protect you here and you are going to end up getting seriously hurt or, more likely, dead," he stated with a matter-of-fact tone.

"But my job-"I started mumbling, and then stopped. How could I go back there without remembering what happened? Did they know where I lived? If these guys were telling the truth, and I believed that they were, how could I say no? "It was you guys wasn't it?" I asked quietly. "You guys were the ones that came in right after he…" I stopped, unable to say it again because I still had trouble wrapping my head around it.

Agent Joiner looked back at me and softly said, "Yes."

This time I didn't bother hiding my tears as I took a deep, shaky breath. "Ok. Let's get out of here," They both looked surprised at my almost too-easy acceptance. Shame crept up, I realized that I was trusting complete strangers with my safety because I was terrified. _You're a damn coward Sarah._

"Oh good," said Agent Mull-, Dean rather happily. "I friggin' hate hospitals!"

Thanks for reading you guys! And don't worry, Sarah doesn't stay helpless forever. The poor girl has had a pretty nasty introduction into Demonology 101, luckily the boys were there no?

I'm sorry to say that Castiel isn't going to make an appearance until closer to Chapter 7 or 8. This is a slow burn sort of story and it's going to delve into Sarah's relationships with Sam, Dean, and many other loveable characters too. Character development is important.

With that said, I am in desperate need of an editor. Not just to fix, what I imagine to be, my many grammatical errors, but any other rough patches as well. You will receive full credit at the beginning of every chapter and I will very likely worship the ground you walk on.

Thank you again and we'll see Sarah soon!


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to everyone who liked the first two chapters! This chapter is slightly different because it's actually been edited by someone who knows what they are doing._

 _Thank you again Celtic Knot for all of your help, you are a lifesaver!_

* * *

Getting out of the hospital wasn't as easy as Agent Mulligan- or Dean, as he insisted I call him- wanted it to be. Belinda, especially, was hard to convince. If I hadn't been seeing stars from the concussion, I would've been amused by her finger waving in Dean's baffled face. Then Agent Joiner hopped in and convinced her that it was the best thing to do. He even made up some cockamamie lie about me going into witness protection. Belinda's face scrunched up and I could tell she wanted to argue, but she didn't say anything.

While the agents—or not-agents, as I was beginning to suspect—filled out the paperwork needed to bust me out, Belinda reluctantly removed the heart monitors from my chest. In a sudden burst of appreciation I grabbed her hand. "Thank you," I whispered. Even if I'd only known her for a few short hours, the way she stood up to Dean to try and protect me made the ache in my chest feel a little bit lighter. She smiled back softly at me.

"You take care of yourself Ms. Lowe," she said, removing the needle from my arm. I didn't have a change of clothes, so Belinda gave me some nurse's scrubs. "I nicked these from the laundry, don't tell," she whispered conspiratorially, putting her finger to her lips. A loud huff of humorous disbelief escaped before I could help it. Too bad I couldn't wrap Belinda up and take her with me.

It took nearly thirty minutes to get me changed, and by the time Belinda got me into the wheelchair I was so dizzy I couldn't even tell her face from her rear. "All packed up?" said Dean, poking his head in for the fifth time. My spirited nurse gave him a withering glare as an answer and began to roll me towards him. Dean opened the door wide and backed as far away from Belinda as he could. It wasn't too long before Sam, the tall one, had me loaded into the backseat of an old black car.

I had so many questions, but I was exhausted and couldn't find the words. It was surprisingly comfortable in the backseat, and someone- I suspected it was Belinda- had procured a pillow. _Did she steal that too?_ I didn't even hear Dean close his door as he got in the driver's seat because I'd already slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

"What do you think it is, Bobby? Cause me and Sam ain't got a damn clue!" Dean cursed, looking in his rearview mirror at the conked-out chick in his backseat. She looked even smaller curled up under Sammy's jacket. Dean had spent the last twenty-four hours with Sam researching this 'Sarah Lowe' and had diddly squat to show for it. Good grades in school, no arrest records- not even a damn peanut allergy. She was a contestant for goody-two-shoes of the year award.

The first place they had gone to was her apartment, and although they had found minute traces of sulfur around the complex, they hadn't found any in her rooms. Stumped, they had gone to her only living relative's house to get some more background. Unfortunately, they hadn't been allowed through the gates. _Pretentious shitheads._

That was when they had decided to confront Sarah head-on. They had gotten there just in time to see her give a deceptively strong punch to a black-eyed goon and then get thrown across the room. The _crack_ they had heard when she hit her head was deafening. After that, they were pretty confident that Sarah was innocent of any wrongdoing, but he and Sam had run tests at the hospital to be sure. No reaction to the holy water, or to the silver ring Sam was wearing on his hand. She was definitely all human. So Dean called Bobby.

" _Well you did the right thing getting her out of there, no way those demons weren't closing in on her again."_ said Bobby, _" My best guess is she's a psychic; probably doesn't even know it. Haven't heard of one that could see a demon's true face, though."_

"So why do the demons want her? Why not just gank her?" demanded Dean, his callous question making Sam frown at him. The psychic thing didn't make a lick of sense to him, but it was the best theory they had so far.

"I don't know. Maybe there's other stuff she can do. Stuff she don't even know about," Bobby replied. Dean tensed. Didn't he have enough to deal with? It was bad enough this tip came from Ruby, Sam's new demon pal, but he only had another six months before he walked into hellfire and left this mess to his brother. He _really_ couldn't deal with another problem right now. Plus this psychic stuff was making him edgy. After bringing Sam back Dean had noticed that his brother was… different. Harsher and more cynical. It was unsettling.

Bobby's gruff voice interrupted his train of thought. _"Whatever her deal is, Dean, the real question is: what are you going to do with her? She can't hitch a ride with you idjits forever."_ Bobby had a real way of addressing the immediate issue.

"Well, me and Sammy here thought it she could crash with you for a bit," Dead silence followed his pitch. Dean sighed long and hard. "Look Bobby, we just took her out of the hospital, and you're right," He looked back at her pale, grey face. "She can't stay in this car. What she needs is some R&R, and where safer than with you?"

Bobby groaned and Dean smirked. That was the sound Bobby made before he agreed to something he didn't like. _Damn I'm good_. _"Fine. But she ain't staying here forever! I'll figure out a more permanent place for her and then she's gone. Got it?"_

Dean smiled widely and smacked the wheel. "Thanks, Bobby, we owe ya!" He hung up, and turned to see if Sam was impressed with his charm-just to see Sam staring at the girl with his brows furrowed.

"You really think she's just a psychic?" Sam asked softly.

Dean didn't know how to answer, but his gut said no. Demons wouldn't be interested in "just a psychic". The car ride to Bobby's was filled with silence, unanswered questions, and the light breathing of a girl who had no idea what kind of world she'd been thrust into.

* * *

 _I'm running through the office. Somebody is chasing me. I try to scream, but it feels like someone has clamped their hands around my throat. My eyes bur with unshed tears as I run from the dark shape. But my legs are getting tired and it feels like I'm stuck in mud. It grabs me from behind and throws me to the floor. Hank crawls on top of me and laughs manically, slamming my head over and over onto the concrete floor, black eyes glaring down at me._

Shooting straight up and gasping for breath I put a hand on my stomach to try and stop the bile. "Whoa, whoa there!" Sam said turning around in his seat. He reached out to steady me but it wasn't enough.

"Pull over," I scratched out. " _Now!"_

Dean took a look at my face, which I'm sure was green, and immediately stopped the car. I opened the door and began retching horribly. Dean looked scared, which I thought was kind of sweet. "Not in my baby, Sam did she make it out?"

Okay, maybe not so sweet.

"Thanks for the concern," I growled. I spat out the last bit of bile, and Sam, bless his heart, passed me a water bottle. My stomach was still clenching so I settled for sipping on it rather than guzzling it like I wanted to do. God, that nightmare was horrible. I felt a hand on my back awkwardly rubbing back and forth and I knew without looking it was Sam. Dean didn't seem like the touchy-feely type. "I'm all right," I said, needing him to stop. His caring touch was making my eyes water. Blinking rapidly, I looked around and saw trees in every direction. "Where are we?" I blurted out, rubbing my arms to get rid of the goose bumps the nightmare left me with.

"On our way to see a friend of ours," replied Dean, giving me a more sympathetic look. "You're going to be staying with him until we figure out what's going on," That's it? They were going to dump me with a complete stranger?

"Do I get a say in this?" I snapped, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"Nope," said Dean with a big smile.

"Dick," I muttered. _And I thought he was handsome! Too bad he's got that mouth on him._ Sam definitely heard me, because he let out a bark of laughter.

"Bobby Singer is a good man and an even better hunter. He'll keep you safe," Dean said tersely, giving Sam a strange look.

I blinked owlishly at him. "Who cares if he hunts? I don't think a gun is going to work against a _demon_ ," I said slowly.

"Look here, Red," Dean growled. I rolled my eyes at the nickname and pushed my copper curls away from my face so I could glare at him. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, we're not F.B.I. We're hunters—Sam here is my brother and this is what we do. We kill the big, bad monsters and save poor saps like you," He pointed at me. The way he said it made me feel a damsel in distress and I dismissed the guilt before I could dwell on it. I crossed my arms and looked away from him. It's not like it was _my_ fault that I was ignorant of the existence of demons. I pulled myself back into the car and shut the door a little harshly. Dean gave a quick, "Hey!" before pulling the car back onto the highway. Silence again.

"You should get some rest Sarah," Sam said without looking back at me. My heavy eyes and pounding head agreed with him, but my heart raced at the thought of seeing Hank in my nightmares again. My lips thinned into a tight line and I kept my gaze straight, staring at nothing in particular.

"So are demons the only things out there?" I asked. There wasn't an immediate answer, but the brothers exchanged a glance—probably wondering if they should reveal any more of the ugly truth to me. Eventually, Dean explained that basically every scary campfire story I'd ever heard was true. Vampires, ghosts, and even zombies were not figments of human imagination but real threats. And these two hunted them.

Then Dean launched into their most recent hunt, a ghost that popped up every thirsty-seven years and killed people by drowning them. At one point Sam tried to stop him. "Dean, maybe she shouldn't know _everything_. I mean, it's a lot to take in,"

"No," I replied. "It's helping, I think." And it was true. Hearing how they were able to _kill_ these things comforted me. It meant that monsters weren't invulnerable, and could be fought off.

I thought I saw a look of approval from Dean before he continued. He told me a time when they killed a zombie by staking her through her stomach in her own coffin. Followed by a story about a Wendigo, which was a sort of cannibal spirit. Sam jumped in after seeing that I was absorbing this new information like a sponge. He told me, a little wistfully, about a haunted painting and how they thought it was the man killing people but it was actually the little girl. Dean teased him about someone named Sarah, and I was amused when Sam told him to shut up. I was certainly not tired anymore. _How do people live their whole lives without knowing these things are here?_ I shivered. _Maybe it's because these things hide in the shadows—more likely it's because we don't like to look too hard_.

"So do demons leave the body alive?" I asked, thinking of Hank. Dean had just finished his story about the seven deadly sins and, despite what had happened, I held a small hope that he had survived the ordeal.

"Sometimes," Sam replied softly. _But not often. I'm so sorry, Hank_. It wasn't fair that he got caught up in all of it. The guilt welled up in me. I wasn't _worth_ it. I was nothing, a nobody. Hank's death had been so utterly _pointless_. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my head in them.

About an hour more down the road, Dean pulled over to a gas station. It wasn't until the neon sign pierced my eyes that I realized it was dark outside. Then came the awkward moment when Sam helped me to the bathroom. I tried to avoid looking in the mirror, but I couldn't resist. My face was a grotesque mix of red and grey and, under my thick rimmed glasses; my grey-green eyes were sunken and darker than normal. The gauze wrapped around my head was hidden beneath riotous red curls. I looked like a Raggedy Ann that had been run over by a truck. I looked away quickly and did my business, not bothering to glance in the mirror's direction again.

Sam was my new hero once he practically carried me back to the car. He'd even gotten me some saltine crackers to nibble on. Once we were back on the road and it became obvious that I wasn't going back to sleep, Dean cranked up the music. I wasn't big on rock and roll, but it was fun listening to Dean's off-key rendition of "Livin' on a Prayer". Sam didn't seem to like it though, considering his dark expression during Dean's guitar solo.

It was well past midnight when we pulled up to an old house surrounded by cars in various levels of repair. I was tired. So tired that the trepidation I'd felt on the way here was completely gone. A silhouette of who I assumed to be this "Bobby" character was waiting in the doorway as Dean parked. He had his arms crossed while Sam opened the door and gently helped me to my feet. I ground my teeth and forced myself to take steps.

Once we made it up the steps onto the porch it became obvious to me that I wasn't going to be able to make it up the stairs inside of the house. "Just put me on the couch," I pleaded, embarrassed at how weak I was. I remembered my manners and turned my head towards my host. My vision wasn't the greatest at that moment but from what I could see Bobby was just a middle-aged country fellow. "Hello, my name is Sarah. Thank you for letting me stay here," I smiled as brightly as I could. It was pretty amazing that this man knew the danger that followed me and still allowed me into his home. My eyes were getting watery— _they've been doing that a lot_ —and I looked quickly at the ground. Bobby rubbed the back of his head, his previously suspicious demeanor dissolving.

"It's no problem. Let's just get you rested up. Then we'll figure out a game plan." He reached out to pat my shoulder and then pulled back, not entirely sure how to comfort me. I thanked him again before Sam led me to the living room, and to the blessed couch. Dean came in shortly afterwards, tossing his and Sam's duffle bags into the hall. Bobby jerked his head to another room and Dean followed after him. Sam helped me settle onto the couch, and I groaned in relief. I sent a quick prayer for a dreamless sleep and I guess somebody up there took pity on me, because I had beautiful empty dreams all night.

* * *

 _Huzzah! She made it to Bobby's intact!_

 _Thanks for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

"The mind is it's own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..."

-John Milton, Paradise Lost

* * *

"She settled in, then?" asked Bobby when Sam walked in. Sam nodded before sitting on the table next to Dean. Books were scattered everywhere, some closed but most of them spread wide. Bobby noticed Sam's wandering gaze and shrugged. "Been doing a little bit of digging."

Actually, it was a lot of digging. He'd started researching as soon as Dean called him from the hospital. Although he was constantly worried about those boys, the peculiarity of this hunt combined with Dean's upcoming death date was deeply troubling. When Dean had suggested bringing her here his first reaction had been "hell, no." But Dean was right, she needed to rest. And his house was better fortified than most. Didn't mean he had to like it, though. When he heard the Impala drive up he opened the door and stayed back, wanting to get a good look at her.

Sam had helped her out of the car. _Damn it_. He saw the gauze wrapped around her head. Her bright red hair in contrast to her pale skin. She was shorter than Sam by at _least_ a foot and a half and she couldn't have weighed a hundred pounds. Wet. And even though it was obvious that she was feeling weak she had lifted her head up, poked her chin out, and started to walk. Granted, she had to lean on Sam, but she clearly had some spunk.

He remembered Dean saying that there was no way she was involved. Remembered how Dean had described this tiny woman punching a demon in the kisser. But watching her force herself to walk on her own power was the moment that convinced Bobby she was worth it. She was a _fighter_. And when she greeted him and flashed that big smile, his previous suspicions dissolved. Protecting her had suddenly become important.

"Find anything?" Dean questioned, knocking Bobby out of his reverie. Staying in one place too long had always annoyed him, but Bobby knew with Hell dogging his footsteps, he was especially eager to get back on the road. His tone of voice made it clear he hoped Bobby had found something helpful, but wasn't expecting much–"lucky" just wasn't a word you used to describe a Winchester.

"Well…" Bobby grabbed a comically large volume next to him, "Yes and no." He found the spot he had marked earlier that day. "It says here that _some_ psychics are sensitive enough to see a demon's true face," he said. Dean and Sam both kept silent. They heard the silent _but_ coming. "But there hasn't been one in over five-hundred years. Seems like the last known 'all-seeing' psychic was some girl in Persia, and there ain't much known about her. 'Cept she was blind."

"Have you seen the glasses on that chick, man?" Dean gestured towards the sky. "Pretty sure she couldn't see the sun without those things."

"No Dean, I mean totally blind. Besides the whole seeing-demons thing." Bobby added as he thumbed towards the couch. "Which leaves a sticky question, if she ain't some sort of psychic, then what's her deal? And why are demons gunning for her?"

Nobody knew how to answer him. Bobby suggested rehashing it out in the morning, and maybe bringing Sarah herself into the conversation. "Who knows, she might remember something new. She's been through enough hell in the last forty-eight hours to last her a lifetime–it wouldn't surprise me if she forgot something important." The brothers agreed, and one by one they left to their respective rooms. A fitful sleep waited for all of them.

* * *

Someone was poking my arm. I rolled away, not quite ready to leave my dreamless slumber. "Rise and shine, Red!" said a voice that was far too chipper. Begrudgingly, I opened my eyes to see Dean hunched over me, smiling broadly. "I bring gifts!" he announced, and presented a toothbrush and deodorant. I felt the blush creeping into my face and mumbled a small "thank you." _I probably smell like sweat and hospital sick._ Dean helped me stand up, and I was enormously relieved when I didn't get dizzy. He pointed in the direction of the bathroom, and I hobbled down to it.

I was out of breath when I made it back to the couch, but pleased that I was getting better. Sunlight bled through the window and I watched dust float in the rays. A serene calm enveloped me and I allowed it to settle in my chest. This house was nice. Very much what I thought an old country home would be like, even if it lacked some softer touches.

I could hear Dean talking to someone in another room. _Probably about me_. I pulled my knees up to my chest and tried not to listen too hard. The peace I was feeling was too precious–I didn't want to cut it short. The couch dipped low next to me and I swallowed thickly. Glancing sideways, I saw that it was Sam. He gave an uncertain smile and set a first aid box down on the coffee table in front of us.

"We need to change your bandages," he explained. "It's been two days, I'm sorry. We should have done it yesterday." As soon as he said it I was reminded of the dull throbbing on the back of my skull.

"Okay," I said with reluctance. He wasn't exactly a doctor, was he? Sam's smile evolved into something close to reassuring.

"Don't worry, I know how to dress a wound. I've had a _lot_ of practice." He sounded sure and somewhat bitter. Not entirely comforted, I turned myself on the couch so that the back of my head was facing him. True to his word, he knew what he was doing. I had to hold my hair out of the way while he dabbed some ointment on the cut, but he was very efficient and gentle.

It was over fairly quickly. And while Sam was putting the extra gauze back in the box, I bit my lip nervously. "So, has anything popped up?"

Sam immediately stilled. "Not exactly," he replied. He looked at me from under his lashes. _He's a pretty handsome guy too_. _I suppose being rescued from demons by two attractive brothers isn't the_ worst _thing that could have happened to me_. I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He closed the lid and let out a sigh.

"That bad, huh?" I asked quietly.

"Well the good news is that no demons followed us here." Sam leaned back into the couch. "But we still don't know why they want you. And Bobby hasn't dug up anything that explains why you can see a demon's face." He rubbed his face in his hands and then gave me a sidelong look. "Our best bet is to try and find something in your past."

"My past?" I repeated dumbly. My past consisted of a dead father, a neglectful mother and a long series of short-lived goldfish. I clasped my hands tightly and thinned my lips. My past wasn't something I enjoyed talking about, let alone something I wanted dissected amongst monster hunters.

Sam reached out and put his hand on mine. "I'm sorry, but in order to help you, we're going to need to know everything. Every strange thing that's ever happened to you. Every nightmare, accident, or odd conversation you can possibly remember." He sounded so apologetic, but I couldn't help but feel angry. I'd lost everything, and he wanted to me to relive my worst memories?

"I know this is a lot to ask of you," he added. "And if there was anything else we could do, we would."

"I'm sorry, Sam, I just–" I took a deep breath. "My past isn't fun for me." Our eyes met and I thought I could see understanding in them. And patience. I let out a humorless laugh. "You remind me of my shrink when you look at me like that." He grinned slightly but didn't say anything. _Just get it out, Sarah. Rip it off like a band-aid_.

* * *

" _Keep your elbows off the table, Sarah," Mother scolded. I did as she said. I was determined to be the most well-mannered little girl I could be today. Maybe if I was good enough, she would listen to me. So my elbows stayed off the table, I made sure not to slurp my noodles, and I patted my lips with my napkin before setting it back down in my lap. For a seven year-old, I thought I was doing very well indeed._

 _I bit my lips nervously, my unusual grey-green eyes staring intensely at my mother's face. She was so beautiful. Her red hair, the same color as mine, was elegantly twisted on top of her head. Her face was unlined, even though she was nearing fifty. Her eyes were a weak grey. But when she was angry they turned into cold granite. Above all else, I couldn't make her angry today._

 _Out of habit I began to kick my legs back on forth on the seat. I hated sitting for long periods of time. "Mama," I began. She didn't say anything so I took it as a sign that I could continue, "Can I quit my ballet lessons?" Her spoon stopped half-way to her mouth and she fixed her eyes on me. They had turned granite._

" _Why on earth would you ask that?" she demanded with perfect, clipped enunciation. I knew by her tone that this wasn't going to go in my favor, but I had to answer. You couldn't ignore a question from Mother._

" _I hate it. I'm too short, my glasses keep falling off, and the other girls are mean to me," I confessed in a rush. I felt the tears coming and forced them away. Mother couldn't stand it when I cried._

 _She was quiet for a minute. Her eyes were closed in what I imagined was forced meditation. Then she replied calmly, "You do not hate ballet. You love ballet." I didn't understand, did she not hear me? "You'll catch up to the other girls in height eventually, and if you would just wear your contacts you wouldn't need to worry about those bulky glasses." She ate another spoonful of soup. "And, if you smiled a little bit more and_ talked _to those other girls, I'm sure they would like you." The memory of the especially tall blonde girl, Lesley, tripping me as I practiced my leaps came to mind. I rubbed my bruised knees and tried not to raise my voice._

" _But I hate it, Mama, can't I just take Mrs. Jones's summer art class? I promise I'll do really good!" I pleaded._

 _Mother slammed her spoon on the table, and for the first time I could remember, she raised her voice at me, "Sarah Elizabeth Lowe, you love ballet. You've always loved it!" She took a large drink of wine. And without looking at my distraught face, patted her lips with her napkin. And in a voice so low I could barely hear, she said, "Stop trying to change it."_

 _I didn't understand what she meant that day. It wasn't until I was twelve that my father, on his deathbed, told me everything. Despite having red hair like my mother, freckled skin like my father, and a combination of their eye colors, grey-green, I was not their biological daughter. I was adopted. That, I could have lived with. My mother was a difficult person to love, but not impossible. And my father was absent most of my life due to his work, and I suspected he had a lover, but he always made sure he was there for my birthday and for Christmas. I loved him as much as I could._

 _But there was something else he admitted to me that day. And any love I had for them died._

* * *

"I was adopted when I was three years old," I started off. Sam quickly moved closer to me.

"That wasn't on your record," he said suspiciously. I sighed heavily.

"No, it wouldn't be."My hands began twisting the blanket. "My adopted parents were extremely wealthy." I glanced sidelong to see how Sam would react to that information. His gaze remained intense but not judgmental. So I continued, "Mother isn't the most mentally stable of people. She demanded that all history of my adoption be wiped out, and replaced with a birth certificate claiming that she and my father were my real parents. And they had the money to make it happen." Sam's eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly.

"Yeah. Why bother with all of that, right?" I asked the question for him. "Father told me with his dying breath. Turns out they had a biological daughter before me." My voice began to seize up. It still hurt to remember it, the shock of what they had done. "She died when she was ten. Leukemia. And it tore my parents apart. They were unable to conceive more children, and to lose their only child must have been devastating," I murmured. I gave Sam another glance and I could tell by the tension in his jaw that he was beginning realize where this was going. But I needed to finish the story anyhow.

"Her name was Elizabeth Lowe. She had red hair, freckles, and grey-green eyes," I pulled at one of my curls. "As a last-ditch effort to keep their marriage together they went to an adoption agency. They were given a book, or maybe a catalogue is a better word. They wanted a newborn, but my picture popped up and…" I couldn't finish my sentence. Anger, regret, and sorrow made my chest heavy and thickened my tongue. There was no need to continue, it was obvious what had happened. I was a _replacement_.

"Honestly, Sam, besides a little experimentation in college? That's the most interesting thing about me," I wiped my eyes and gave him a sarcastic smile. "Does that information help you?" I said mockingly. I knew it was a bitchy thing to say, but I didn't care.

"Yeah, it does, actually," said a gruff voice behind me. I whipped my head around to see Bobby and Dean leaning in the doorway. Before I had a chance to scream at them for listening in, Bobby handed me a plate with buttered toast.

My mouth watered instantly and my stomach growled. I shoved a whole slice of bread in my mouth. I hadn't forgotten the eavesdropping so I glared at them. With cheeks full of food and a bird's nest on my head, I'm sure I looked properly mad.

Bobby crossed over and sat down in front of me. "Looks like the best way to figure this out is to find out what happened to you when you were a baby. Why were you put up for adoption?" I swallowed the toast hastily.

"You don't think I've looked?" I snapped. " I've hired every damn private investigator from London to Los Angeles and nobody can track down my real parents."

Bobby gave me a stern look. "Sorry, um, sir," I mumbled.

"You've been through a lot, but don't forget that we are trying to help you," he explained. "Plus, we," he gestured to Dean and Sam, "have resources you don't. Now what we dig up might not be pleasant. You need to come to terms with the fact that your real parents might be dead. Or worse."

 _Or worse?_ That was a deeply unsettling thought. But I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time: hope. If these guys could discover where I came from, that would be one step closer to figuring out what to do about those demons. _And one step closer to figuring out who I really am_.

I looked into Bobby's eyes and nodded. After the hell I'd been put through, I was ready for answers.

* * *

It all remains mysterious...

Another huge shoutout to Celtic Knot for being a wonderful editor!

And of course, thank you for reading!


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